“god Forbid A Girl Get Huzz” - 2

thinking about patrick zweig and his sexuality…

mrta era up to 2007 i feel like patrick’s in his repressed bisexual era. like, it’s the 2000s and going to a boarding school, i’m sure there’s a lot of repressed homosexuals but, like, it’s definitely not an open thing. and patrick has a reputation to uphold. so, he doesn’t experiment, not yet. but, that doesn’t stop him from looking.

in the hotel room scene, when tashi asks if him and art have done anything, he looks away and sighs — that, to me, is regret. regret that they haven’t done anything. regretting the fact that he missed that opportunity. i do truly think that both art and patrick pined over each other in mrta days, but they were both too shy and repressed to do anything about it. other than distant, yearny looks from across the room.

i’d like to think that something happened between art and patrick after tashi leaves the hotel room, just because. but i think, if it does, it gives patrick a taste of what he’s missing. but he keeps that in the back of his mind, because, well, tashi duncan said she’ll give one of them her number!!

i feel like the first time patrick really first got in touch with his sexuality is post-tashi’s-injury. him being (forcibly) art and tashi-less, forced him to meet new people, and consequently, try new things out. i also think that with art and tashi not being with him, lifts a weight of his shoulders. like a newfound confidence — like, there’s not a sense of scrutiny or criticism from anything that he does anymore. that being said, it’s not like he doesn’t miss them.

now, 2019 patrick, is much more confident in his sexuality. i feel like this was portrayed beautifully by luca guadagnino when patrick eats the banana and stares art down. but, also, the tinder/dating app showing both men and women — which, could just be because this man is broke + homeless and just desperately needed a place to stay, but!! he is not opposed to getting dicked down.

i also think the sauna scene shows the difference between art and patrick’s sexuality. i saw a post on here that said that the way each of their towels are wrapped around their body acts as a metaphor for their sexuality. like, patrick’s towel is loose and barely there, showing that he’s comfortable and unashamed in his bisexuality. but with art, it’s tightly wrapped around, and he still wears his wedding band, though the heat would make the metal tighten around his finger. now, this could be a simple act of devotion to tashi, but, maybe a desperate way to hold on to any semblance of heterosexuality he has? idk! but it definitely reflects his internalised biphobia and repression.

ummm this went longer than expected but like !! <3

i miss tashi duncan, she can never do wrong

i miss my boyfriend (mike faist)

yikes. unstanning now. was okay with the cannibalism, wasn’t aware of the ‘being mean to nat’ part.

spiderman!art x reader — MDNI

Who.. when you first found out, he tried to explain himself. extending his hands towards you but accidentally shooting a web, barley missing you. his eyes wide, “I—okay, you..you got me. I’m Spider-Man.” And you freaked out.

Who.. loves sneaking into your room by climbing your wall and knocking on your window, you had completely forgotten he was Spider-Man. You look out the window to see him stuck on the wall. “How—how the hell are you doing that? Art.” You gasped, he laughed right in your face. “you okay? did you already forget?”

Who.. whenever he comes back from a battle, he’s right at the window and as soon as you open, he gives you the biggest hug ever before he removes his mask. Scratches surrounding his face and his body. You quickly take care of those and the night ends with cuddles and sweet kisses.

Who.. wishes his suit wasn’t so hard to take off when you both were about to get intimate, you, legs spread all wet and ready for him but he’s busy fumbling with his suit, trying to take his leg out. He sighed in relief when he’s finally out of it, without a warning, slamming into you with desperation. He really needed this after all those stressful fights.

Who.. webs your hands against the bedpost before continuing to eat you out, his face covered in your fluids. All you could do is squirm and moan as he continued his restless assault on your heat.

unpure ; art donaldson

the moment you entered the chapel, art donaldson—perfect, revered, untouchable—momentarily unraveled. known as the pastor’s son and golden boy of a devout small town, he was adored, idolized, and expected to be without flaw. but you weren’t there for god, salvation, or belief. you were there for him. and there was something intoxicating about tempting someone so carefully constructed to be pure—something deliberate in your movements, in the way your skirt rode up, in the way you sat just within his line of sight. you knew he was watching, just as you knew he shouldn’t. yet the tension—the push and pull of guilt and desire—felt electric, and impossibly easy. maybe it was wrong, but it never felt like it. not with the way you looked at him.

memories ; art donaldson

art loved you. he had known ever since he had met you. he might’ve been hopeless in the moment (patrick said so, but whatever), but really, he won. he got you, and he was sickeningly content. you two had just gotten married, and were currently vacationing in greece for your honeymoon. the two of you were cuddled up on the hotel’s bed after a lazy morning, not wanting to get up.

you flashed a soft smile, noting his gaze on you. his palm rested against your head, the tips of his long, pale fingers tracing along your hairline. his thumb gently rubbed under your ear, in the tender spot behind it. he pressed a kiss to your temple, as he returned the smile, eyes flitting over your face. the warmth of your expression made his pulse quicken.

he leaned forward, pressing his mouth against yours in a slow kiss. his fingers gently tilted your chin, slender digits cupping your face as the kiss deepened. his tongue traced over your lower lip, the gesture lazy and yet full of affection.

“you’re my dream,” his hand tangled in your hair once he pulled away, eyes flickering to your face. he watched you intently, taking in the sight of you curled against him. his fingers skimmed over your side, tracing a constellation of old scars along your back. his expression softened, a tender smile tugging at his mouth.

you flashed another smile. “isn’t it crazy that we’re married?” you hummed, running your fingers across his chest lovingly. he huffed out a laugh, letting out a noise of agreement. he rested his forehead against yours. his breath was hot and steady, ghosting over your lips. “how did i get so lucky?”

the recollection came to him in fragments of memory, each flash more vivid—more tangible—than the last.

meeting you at a party he’d been drug to by patrick, his blue eyes flickering over you, lingering on your form as he nursed a cheap and watery beer. your head thrown back in laughter, the sound cutting through the crowded room and catching his attention. there was a flutter in his chest, he couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he wanted to hear it again. exchanging numbers and names in the cool, nighttime air. you’d flashed a sweet smile. “i’ll see you around, art.” and he watched you leave in a trance.

when he first kissed you, fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed you into the brickwall of a nearby building. your body arching into his as his mouth molded against yours. he remembered the first time he saw your place, messy and unorganized, records in no particular order with books covering your dresser.

he could recall the first time he took you to a coffee shop, your laughter over some dumb joke he’d said at the counter. your fingers in his hair after you’d dragged him to a club, the taste of tequila on your tongue as you’d pulled him into the backseat of an uber with a devilish gleam in your eye.

he’d met your parents next, your mother looked him up and down before your father pulled him into a bruising hug. he had taken you to the lake at night, stars speckled across the sky and the coolness of the water making your skin prickle. your fingers on his back under his shirt as you’d pulled him through your door, lips on his neck, eyes hazy with desire.

his head on your lap when you’d gone over to movie night at tashi’s, your fingers massaging his scalp. his head on your lap in broad daylight, your hand cradling his cheek, thumb tracing over the freckles that kissed his nose. the first time you’d kissed at his apartment, warm, soft laughter as he pulled you on top of him, his mouth on yours and hands wandering greedily over your body.

he slowly opened his eyes, the reminiscences still lingering in his mind. the rain still tapped against the window, a steady, lazy rhythm, providing a fitting backdrop to his thoughts. a tender expression still graced his delicate features, his gaze remaining on you. the warmth of his hand remained on your back, fingers gently tracing the pattern of your scars.

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

intertwined by a ring. he’d never take it off. neither would you.

I miss my boyfriend (I don’t have one)

they’re one years old today 🩷

hii! i love your blog smmmm!!💕💕🥰🥰

aww hi!! thank you sm🥹🥹 i love yours too, i love elvira 😆